


A.D.T.O.Y

by SlimeQueen



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Blow Jobs, Humor (?), Lowkey very cute, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimeQueen/pseuds/SlimeQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark's morning begins with Jackson trying to feel him up through his pajama pants. As it goes, this is pretty normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A.D.T.O.Y

**Author's Note:**

> i started this in october... and finished it in february. That says a lot about me i guess lmao  
> Fic name taken from ADTOY by 2pm
> 
> Please don't steal or repost my work on any other website without my permission, thank you!

It’s the third time this month that bastard Jinyoung hasn’t taken out the trash and Mark is starting to get tired of smelling the filth every time he passes it on his way to the kitchen.

It’s also the third time this month that Jackson has tried to feel him up through his pajama bottoms, but Mark doesn’t mind that so much.

Or he wouldn’t if Jaebum hadn’t made that rule a couple months ago— _Don’t do that where people can see you, you fucking animals_ —after running into Jackson trying to undress Mark on the dining table for the fourth time that week.

Jackson’s eyes are half closed and sleepy, and Mark is kind of impressed he even has the energy to try, much less push Mark against the counter from behind while he’s waiting for his toast and fumble with the worn string of his plaid pajamas.

Evidently he’s given up on the tie though, because his hands slide lower and attempt to cup Mark through the cotton, but Mark’s faster than him, grabbing him by the wrist and flicking him away. Jackson’s chin rests on his shoulder, and Mark wants to ask if he’s standing on his tiptoes just to annoy him, but settles for hissing, “Stop that,” and squirming between his arms.

Jackson is the most persistent fucker in the whole frat house, and Mark is about to smack him because instead of removing his hands like a normal person, they slide up to Mark’s hips and try to sneak under his shirt.

As usual, Jackson’s hands are hot and feel nice against his skin so Mark stops trying to evade them and lets them slide up against his abdominal muscles and opts to ignore Jackson pressed up against him as he eyes the toaster again.

“Make me some?” Jackson asks, his voice raspy from disuse. Mark rolls his eyes and grabs his toast as it pops up, then elbows Jackson sharply in the ribs, causing him to yelp and step away, suddenly completely awake. “You monster,” he accuses dramatically, one hand pressed to his ribcage.

“Take out the trash and I might consider it.” Mark mumbles as he passes to find the peanut butter (God knows where it ends up after Bambam finishes with it, last time he’d found the jar wedged between two cereal boxes above their fridge.)

Jackson looks disgruntled, but turns to the full garbage and squints at it. “Will you make me an omelet?” he asks. Mark sighs and looks at his watch, because he has classes in an hour but he’s never good at saying no to Jackson.

At his nod, Jackson whoops, too loud for so early in the morning, and takes off with the bag to put it on the curb. Mark roots around in the fridge for the eggs he knows he bought a couple days ago until he finds them behind some milk that probably expired the previous week.

Yugyeom walks into the kitchen then, his ugly yellow slippers making an irritating clacking noise against the floor that makes Mark frown. “Can you make me one?” he asks when he sees the eggs in Mark’s hand.

Mark sighs again and wonders how people who had only been pledges a couple months ago are bossing him around now.

-

Ten minutes later, Jackson has a fork in one hand, his other one under the table, sliding up the length of Mark’s thigh. Yugyeom is one of the only other ones who has classes this early so he sits on the other side of the table, painfully oblivious to Jackson’s attempts at seduction. There are others starting to wake up now, the twenty-something people that live in their house bustling and making noise.

Mark doesn’t know how he ended up in a fraternity of all things, considering how quiet he’s been for most of his life, but in his first year of college, his parents had encouraged him to “ _get out and be social, for once in your life Mark Tuan_!” and he’d ended up pledging on a whim.

Jackson had pledged the next year, after Mark’s previous roommate had graduated, and had gone through the hazing easily, then had become Mark’s roommate and came in with his multitude of ear piercings and snapback collection.

At first, Mark hadn’t paid him much attention, but Jackson isn’t the kind of person that’s ignorable, presence taking up the room and worming his way into Mark’s life one greasy half-smile at a time. Mark had hated it, skin crawling every time the younger spoke to him from the bed across the room, denying the fascination and borderline sexual tension brewing for nearly two months.

Finally, the boiling point had peaked and Mark had begun screaming for him to leave and move out over some petty incident. Mark barely ever raises his voice, and when he had, Jackson had finally laughed, all deep and throaty and frustratingly arousing, and backed him against the desk, mouths suddenly pressed together.

Long story short, Mark hadn’t sat at that desk since being fucked over it and Jackson still laughs at him for it.

Mark snaps out of his thoughts as Jackson’s hand travels up too far for comfort and he digs his fingers into the younger’s wrist until Jackson squeezes his lips together and retracts his hand. His eyes still glimmer mischievously though, so Mark knows he has something else in store.

Yugyeom rolls his eyes and looks up at them. “Jaebum-hyung’s texting me from upstairs.” He holds his phone out, and even though Mark can’t make out the text from across the table, Jackson snorts. “He wants a couple of us to go out tonight.”

Mark groans mentally as Jackson says, “We’re in.” Fridays are Jaebum’s favorite days and he insists on everyone going out and partying even though Mark would be perfectly content with a cup of tea and maybe Jackson giving him a back massage after a brutal week of classes.

Jackson on the other hand, is always up for a party. Mark doesn’t mean to be bitter but Jackson is the kind of person everyone likes, with infectious laughs and an angular attractive face. He doesn’t like calling himself petty, but he’s seen the way people take interest to Jackson, and even if Jackson does come back with him at the end of the night, even though it’s Mark’s neck he presses openmouthed kisses to, even though it’s always Mark he holds closer in the middle of the night when his mind is working too fast and he can’t sleep, Mark always ends up worrying and following along to most of the parties they go to.

Yugyeom’s fork clanks against his plate and jolts Mark out of his thoughts. “Don’t you have class?”

Mark shoves Jackson’s hand off of his knee and stands. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be down.”

Jackson trails after him in the hallway and up to their room, pausing to say hello to the freshman loitering at the bottom of the stairs. He must seem to feel Mark’s mood going down because as soon as the door shuts behind them, he drops down onto Mark’s unmade bed and asks, “Are you mad at me or something?”

Mark raises an eyebrow whilst rummaging for clean jeans. He doesn’t miss the way Jackson’s eyes drag down his legs but ignores it. Being naked in front of each other after a year of living together is normal at this point, even though at first Mark had covered himself as much as possible, while Jackson had taken any chance to strip off his shirt and show off his (admittedly impressive) biceps.

“No.” he says without even looking at Jackson. He changes his shirt quickly and grabs his bag, sliding his feet into his shoes. “I have to go, I’ll see you later.”

He leaves Jackson sitting on his bed, confused expression playing over his features.

-

Mark comes home after classes all day to find their room empty, Jackson nowhere to be found.  
He asks a couple of the people sitting around the kitchen, but no one has seen him, too busy with their own plans for the night.

Mark settles for taking a shower and changing into his most comfortable pajamas, the prospect of going out sending anxiousness twitching through him. The room is still unoccupied when he returns with fluffy blow dried hair, and just as he wonders where Jackson would be, he comes into the room and when he sees Mark’s slippers and pajamas, his brows furrow in confusion. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Mark worries at his lower lip for a second before shrugging and looking back down at his book. “I don’t feel like going out. You should go though.”

Jackson’s dressed up in tight black jeans, ripped at the knees, and a sleeveless shirt that showcases his arms, along with a snapback thrown over his white-blond hair, and Mark feels bad because he even has eyeliner smeared dark around his eyes but Mark probably just ruined his mood for the night.

To his surprise, Jackson grabs the hat off his head and places it on the dresser, runs a hand through his hair to fix it, and kicks off his shoes. “I’d rather stay with you,” he says as if it’s that easy.

Now Mark feels like a buzzkill. “Don’t just stay back because of me,” he complains as Jackson starts rubbing his eyeliner off with a tissue. “Stop it, I said you should go!” Jackson looks at him out the corner of his eye and shoots him a little smile.

“I want to stay here.” He says simply, shutting the door and stripping the tight jeans off. Mark watches the muscles in his thighs shift silently, and then glances up. He doesn’t look angry or upset at all, face blank as he changes into a pair of shorts and opens the door and shouts down the hall, “I’m bailing!”

Jaebum’s at the door in an instant with a million questions, but Mark knows Jackson comes up with lies easier than he blinks, so he’s not surprised when he says, “Mark’s kind of feeling sick so I'm staying with him.”

Jaebum glances over Jackson’s shoulder to where Mark is under his covers so he coughs for good effect and tries for a weak smile. “Okay,” Jaebum says dubiously, “We’ll see you guys later then. The house will probably be empty all night and I don’t want it to be messy when I get back.”

Jackson smiles saccharinely and tips his head to the side. “We’ll be really quiet. We won’t even leave this room.”

Jaebum rolls his eyes good naturedly and calls out, “Feel better, man. If you feel too bad there are pills in the medicine cabinet downstairs.”

Mark waves and Jackson shuts the door, and then clicks the lock out of habit. “I feel sick?” Mark smiles softly as Jackson shrugs, walks over, and taps at his shoulder to signal him to move over. Jackson slides into the bed next to him, and Jackson’s body heat is always so nice and warm compared to Mark’s always cold fingers that he can’t help pressing his hands to Jackson’s arm.

Jackson hisses quietly but doesn’t move away, taking Mark’s hands between his own rubbing his palms together. “You didn’t have to stay because of me.” He mumbles, burying his face in Jackson’s chest. He smells like sharp cologne and something softer underlying it. Jackson lets his hands go then, and slings an arm over Mark’s torso.

“I wanted to,” he says, and Mark kind of doubts that, but the notion is nice anyways so he doesn’t complain.

The door downstairs slams closed as the last of the guys leave and then there’s silence. Mark’s breathing slows as he listens to Jackson hum to himself absently and he wonders if Jackson will mind if he took a nap.

When Mark raises his head to ask, he meets Jackson’s eyes and his mouth goes dry. His throat clicks when he swallows and asks, “What are you thinking about?” Jackson’s eyes are doing that _thing_ when they get all heavy and lidded, the pupils swallowing up his irises, making them dark in the dim light.

Jackson leans forward until their faces are only a couple centimeters apart and blinks slowly. “You.” He says simply, and then Mark has to look away because there’s a steady flush making its way over his face. Jackson always has a knack for speaking too bluntly, saying things that make everyone cringe and Mark blush.

“I'm always thinking about you.” Jackson says then, and Mark could possibly die of embarrassment. He tries to hide his face in Jackson’s shirt to cover the redness of his cheeks, but Jackson hooks two fingers under his chin and pushes his face up so he can’t look away. Mark’s face burns under Jackson’s steady gaze but he wills himself not to look away.

Suddenly Jackson’s lips touch his and Mark’s eyes slip closed, breath steadying out as Jackson’s arm around his side slides up to cup his face, thumb pressing into the edge of his jaw. His lips feel softer than usual when they part against Mark’s from the chapstick he’d been slathering on earlier while getting ready to go out.

Mark’s hand fists into the front of Jackson’s shirt automatically when his tongue runs across the seam of his mouth, warm against his lower lip, then curls into his mouth. Before he knows it, Jackson’s rolling over on top of him, warm and heavy, mouths still connected, and his legs part instinctively to make space for Jackson between them.

“Is this why you wanted to stay back?” Mark manages when Jackson finally pulls away and licks at his swollen lips. Jackson just grins wolfishly and leans down to press his open lips to the place right under the hinge of Mark’s jaw and sucks on the skin there. Mark’s breathing hitches and his eyes shut all the way as Jackson’s lips map out his jaw and move down his neck to his clavicle, then up his throat to push against where his pulse is the most prominent.

When Jackson’s satisfied with the reddened skin, he pulls back a little and sits up between Mark’s legs. “There might have been a deeper motive,” he admits. At Mark’s look, he protests, “The whole house is empty though, and we have all night.”

Mark rolls his eyes internally but props himself up on the headboard of his too-small bed and raises an eyebrow. “Did you have something planned?”

Jackson crosses his legs and sits comfortably, then shrugs. “I could always do you over the desk again.”

Mark glances distastefully at the offending chair and desk combo in one corner of their room and shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

Jackson grins and tilts his head to the side. “Why not? It was kinda hot, wasn’t it?”

Somewhere _deep_ inside, maybe Mark agrees that it was a little, _tiny_ bit hot, but he’d never admit to it so he widens his eyes and shakes his head again. Jackson bites his lip and asks, “Do you want to just sleep, then?”

Mark knows that Jackson will go with whatever he says, even if he doesn’t really want to do it, but Jackson’s eyes still have little remnants of the eyeliner flecked around them, making them look dark and big as he stares, and Mark is kind of a sucker for Jackson no matter how much he wants to deny it, so he winds up sighing, “No, I don’t wanna sleep.”

“Good, because I really didn’t want to either.” Jackson’s wide smile sort of makes Mark’s insides feel like they’re melting into the pit of his stomach, warming him down to his fingertips when Jackson leans forward again and cups his face, thumb sweeping over the swell of Mark’s lower lip. “At all,” Jackson breathes quietly, moving his hand out of the way and kissing Mark again.

Mark’s fingers reach and tangle into the front of Jackson’s shirt as he clambers onto his lap, lips still connected. Mark’s really too tall to fit comfortably, but Jackson is broader and somehow it works. Jackson kisses like there’s nothing except Mark in the whole world, his fingers curled against Mark’s sides, mouth sliding messy against Mark’s, and it makes his head spin, consciousness tilting until there’s nothing but him and Jackson.

“Lube,” Mark finds himself whispering into Jackson’s mouth. Jackson scrambles to reach for it, nearly knocking Mark off his lap in the process, but manages to close his hand around the bottle on the nightstand without causing either of them bodily harm. There are condoms in the box under the bed (Mark is nothing if not well prepared) and Jackson has to contort a bit more to reach those, but he manages.

“You’re not tired?” Jackson asks, forehead creased in worry because he’s _Jackson_ and too goddamn nice for his own good, treating Mark like some kind of princess.

Mark shakes his head adamantly and leans forward to press a kiss to the edge of Jackson’s mouth. “Not too tired, I’m never too tired for you.”

It’s not often that Mark says weird romantic stuff like that, but Jackson’s eyes are sparkling like they hold all the secrets in the universe and his mouth is pink and soft, and he’s staring at Mark like he’s the only thing that matters, and Mark can’t help himself, not when it comes to Jackson.

Jackson lives off of cheesy lines though, so his entire face lights up, grin pulling his reddened lips thin as he clicks open the lube. Another thing Jackson likes—something Mark has never really been able to understand—is stretching. He’d asked just once, randomly in passing, _“Why do you like stretching me so much?”_ but Jackson had only smiled and poked him in the stomach. “ _I like watching your expressions,”_ he’d said simply, and Mark had left it at that.

Now, Mark slides backwards off Jackson’s lap and drops to his back, shimmying his sweatpants off and tossing them over the edge of the bed, anticipation curling heavy in his stomach. Jackson’s hand slides over his leg, calloused palm flush against his thighs, not stopping until he’s pinning Mark down by the hips.

He pushes Mark’s legs open with slow unwavering hands, eyes sparkling in the dim light. He bows his head and looks up through his eyelashes, a slick finger suddenly pressed against Mark, who jerks at the cold sensation. “Yeah?” he asks. Mark swallows and nods.

As impatient as Jackson is in most things, he’s always meticulous with this. His fingers circle Mark’s hole, waiting until the lube isn’t unbearably cold before he pushes in, and Mark clenches automatically at the feeling, then wills himself to relax.

“You’re so pretty,” Jackson coos, face hovering over Mark’s. Mark feels himself flush, but before he can shake his head, Jackson says firmly, “Don’t say you aren’t. You’re the prettiest, okay? If anyone ever disagrees, I’ll fight them.”

Mark can’t help laughing then, even with Jackson’s fingers pressed inside him, because that’s such a _Jackson_ thing to say during an intimate moment like this.

“What?” Jackson asks, genuinely curious, so Mark just shakes his head and keeps in the giggle bubbling at his lips. Jackson raises an eyebrow, but there’s a grin pulling at his lip. “I’m not joking, you know. Why are you laughing?”

“It’s cute,” Mark says for lack of better answer. “You are. Cute I mean.”

Jackson cocks his head to the side and his fingers twitch a little. “I’m not.” He protests, but when he pouts, his lips are so _so_ red, and he definitely _is_. His fingers press in deeper, and crooks them in a way that has Mark breathless. “Am I?”

Mark nods tightly, his fingers all bunched up together in the sheets. Liquid heat coats the pit of his stomach and he’s having a hard time thinking anymore, so he just mumbles, “You are,” and lets his eyes flutter shut. Jackson’s fingers press in somewhere that makes Mark jerk, and then he’s gasping, “Not there, not yet,” and pushing the younger’s arm. Jackson retreats dutifully, stretches him quick and efficient.

 “Turn over?” Jackson asks once Mark’s abdominal muscles aren’t tense anymore, sliding his fingers out and pressing the tips of them lightly into Mark’s hipbones. Mark’s body responds without thinking, flipping into his stomach. He hears the foil of the condom wrapper tearing and Jackson groan when he fists himself and rolls it on.

“Careful,” he reminds Jackson quietly, propping himself up on his elbows.

Jackson breathes out a laugh but it’s enough to ease Mark. He exhales heavily through his nose when he feels Jackson press against him, hot and heavy and slick with lube. The stretch at first is overwhelming—Jackson isn’t as cocky (no pun intended) as he is for no reason—Mark had been completely fucked out the first time they’d done this, refusing to leave his bed for hours afterwards.

Jackson's fingers press to his hips then, and pull him backwards until the backs of Mark's thighs press to the front of Jackson's, his cock buried completely inside of Mark. Jackson grinds slowly against him as Mark sucks in breath after breath, trying to adjust to the burning stretch.  

“Okay?” Jackson asks, voice muted.

Mark takes in big breaths, his eyes fluttering closed as he worries at his lower lip. “Okay,” he finally responds. “I’m okay.”

And that’s all Jackson needs. His hips slam forward, and Mark pushes back to meet him thrust for thrust, bodies finding an easy rhythm. It stings at first, aching in a way that makes Mark’s body heat up, then eventually the hurt gives way to pleasure and warmth soaking through him, and Mark is keening and moaning instead of gasping.

Mark reaches down and wraps a hand around his dick, jerking off at the same pace Jackson’s hips move, sighing quietly at the touch. “It’s good,” he mumbles out, “It feels so good, Jackson,” and he doesn’t even need to look around to know that Jackson is grinning infectiously. Mark’s lips curl thinking about it.

“Harder?” Jackson asks after a while, and it’s not a real question—it’s him asking for permission. Mark licks his lower lip, and then nods into his forearms, muttering a quiet affirmation.

But then Jackson has the nerve to _slow down_ , fucking him slowly like he has all night, rolling his hips leisurely, thumbs stroking lazy circles into Mark's waist until Mark trembles from oversensitivity, his mind nearly blanking because of how _good_ it feels whenever Jackson pushes deep into him and brushes his prostate.

He's mumbling incoherently into his forearms, a mix of "Please, Jackson it's too- please I'm-" and slurred moans. The pit of his stomach aches deliciously as Jackson soothingly presses his rough palm against the heated skin of his back, running it down his spine until the tips of his pinky and thumb press into Mark's shoulder blades.

“I’ve got you,” Jackson murmurs, his hand sliding down further until it cups the back of Mark’s neck, possessive and protective. “I’ve got you baby, you can come.”

Mark’s body gives then, both from the hoarseness of Jackson’s voice and because he comes as if on command, everything pulling tight, coiling together, then exploding into brilliant white as his hips rut senselessly into his own fist and back against Jackson, whimpering and gasping as he rides out his orgasm, streaks of white slipping between his fingers.

Jackson slows down, rubbing his fingers into the softest part of Mark’s hips, murmuring to him quietly as he comes down from his high, his hole clenching and unclenching frantically on Jackson’s cock. Mark’s thighs are trembling with aftershocks even afterwards when Jackson drapes his torso over Mark’s back and cranes his neck to press a little kiss to Mark’s swollen bottom lip. His hips roll once, and Mark cries out sharply, thighs finally giving when Jackson’s cock brushes his oversensitive prostate.

Jackson’s erection slips out of him as he falls onto the sheets, right into his own come, but he could care less because his breath is still coming harsh, tremors running through his body even though Jackson is barely touching him, running intrepid fingers down the curve of his back as he settles next to Mark on his side. Mark rolls over to face him and glances down, eyes falling on the way Jackson’s cock still curves up against his belly, glistening with lube and precome.

“You good?” Jackson breathes then, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Mark thinks it over for a second, then without answering, tilts his head back and seeks out Jackson’s mouth. Jackson’s lips slant into his automatically, open and pliant as Mark licks into his mouth.

“Are you?” Mark counters softly, one hand slipping down to the warm skin below Jackson’s navel, fingers following the trail of soft hair downwards. Jackson’s lips curl into a smile against his, and Mark turns onto his side fully to they’re facing each other properly. Mark rolls the used condom off, tosses towards his discarded clothes, and trails his index finger around the head of Jackson’s dick.

“We should keep going,” Mark whispers, fingers wrapping around the younger’s throbbing cock, “I want to.” His thumb traces the vein that runs down the side, and he rubs at it absently, eyes trained on the way Jackson’s hips twitch just a little bit, rutting automatically into his fist.

“Maybe we should give it five minutes?” Jackson suggests, and his eyelids weigh down, long inky lashes curling in a way that makes him look way more innocent than he is. Mark hums in agreement, continues jerking him off in a pace that’s probably excruciatingly slow, but Jackson doesn’t complain.

He ducks forward, brushing his warm lips across Mark’s, tongue flicking out to sweep across the swollen shape of Mark’s bottom lip. “Did you mean it?” He breathes, so quiet that it’s barely an exhale against Mark’s mouth.

Mark hums, distracted by the task at hand, his hand wrapped tight around Jackson’s dick now. “Mean what?”

Jackson blinks, and they’re so close that Mark feels the echo of it against his own skin. Their lips are still touching, not kissing exactly, but not _not_ kissing either. “When you said I was cute.”

Mark squeezes his cock, thumb carefully collecting precome from the head. Jackson shivers against him, dick twitching when Mark digs his finger into the slit at the top. “Of course I did.” How could Jackson think he hadn’t meant it when he walks around looking like _that_ , his cheeks rosy and his bright charisma practically oozing from him in waves.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and then they’re kissing properly, Jackson’s tongue in his mouth, and Mark kisses back deep and unrestrained.

Making out with Jackson is always weird for some reason—sometimes he’s careful, kissing Mark like he thinks the elder will break if he’s too rough, his fingers intertwined with Mark’s between them, and sometimes he kisses like he wants to devour Mark whole, pinning his wrists above his head and pressing their hips together.

This is like neither of those though, Jackson’s lips lazily seeking him out, no rush behind his actions as they part and meet again and again. It’s nice, Mark decides. Jackson is rarely so slow in his actions, but it’s really nice.

“I like kissing you,” he breathes, and only realizes how strange that is to say after the words are already out.

Instead of laughing at him, Jackson sucks on his bottom lip and whispers, “I like kissing you too,” and then declares, “I would do it all day if you let me. I’d skip class and working out and homework and everything else.”

Mark’s lips curl. “You’d have to drop out.”

Jackson’s tongue drags across his bottom lip and he murmurs, “Don’t care. If it means I have you all to myself.”

“Selfish.” Mark comments, but his eyes are crinkling into another smile and Jackson breathes another laugh against his mouth.

“It’s okay, you think I'm cute, remember?”

“I take it back.” With that, Mark twists his wrist particularly hard around Jackson’s cock, and the younger moans, shuddering against him. “Come on, we’ve waited long enough.”

Jackson blinks rapidly, trying to gather his bearings, and then hums in response and kisses him again, indulgent and deep. “Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” He sits up abruptly and Mark turns over onto his back and parts his legs accommodatingly. Jackson disappears from his sight for a second to retrieve another condom, and appears again.

This time, Jackson enters him even more carefully, face drawn in concentration, and Mark can’t stop staring, even when his body tenses and clenches. When Jackson notices, his swollen lips curl into a little smile and he asks, “What is it?”

Mark shakes his head silently and wraps long arms around Jackson’s neck, and then pulls him in to press a warm kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re just…” he pauses, unsure how to express the warm bubbly feeling in his chest. He feels so full, not just physically.

Jackson laughs softly against his mouth and presses his lips to the edge of Mark’s jaw, then murmurs, “It’s okay, I get it.”

Mark doesn’t know if Jackson really _gets it_ because Mark thinks about Jackson without even realizing it, sticks close to Jackson without noticing it, can’t sleep without Jackson’s soft breathing noises next to him, and a million other tiny details he isn’t sure Jackson comprehends.

“Hey,” Jackson interjects, “You’re thinking too hard. I can practically hear you from here.” Mark smiles sheepishly in response. Jackson’s always been good at stopping the random weird thoughts that seem to find him when he’s spending too much time in his own head.

“Shut it up then,” Mark challenges, “Make me not think.”

Jackson’s smile is so brilliant that Mark thinks he needs to look away. Instead, he pulls Jackson closer and tucks his head into the younger’s neck, humming into the warm skin.

“Go ahead,” he breathes, and Jackson rocks his hips once, testing. “Come _on_ ,” Mark groans, throwing caution to the wind. He’s been fucked once, again is no big deal. He bites at Jackson’s pulse rougher than needed, but Jackson huffs quietly and snaps his hips forward, filling Mark up to the brim in a way that chases every other though from his mind.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “ _Mark_.” Mark wraps his arms around him, feeling Jackson’s shoulder blades shift when Mark’s nails dig too much into his back. He’s careful not to scratch too hard, remembering how Jackson had winced examining the red marks on his back the last time he’d accidentally used his nails.

Mark squeezes his lips together as Jackson rocks against him steadily, eyes shut tight. Mark thinks, in a strange moment of clarity, that the world could be ending right now and there would still be no way he’d stop clinging to Jackson.

Jackson shifts and hits something inside him that makes everything quake, and Mark decides, yes, he’d definitely never let go. Mark’s insides quiver and his breath comes shuddery.

"Are you going to come again?" Jackson asks then, eyes impossibly dark, staring right into Mark’s.

Mark tries to steady his breathing before he answers, but Jackson's cock is still pressed inside him, making him clench instinctively and his breath hitch. "I don't- I don't know, I'm-" Mark squeezes his lips together and crosses his arms over his face as Jackson's hand moves from his chest and sinks between his legs. Mark yelps quietly when Jackson's fingers close over his spent cock, the tips just barely brushing against him, and Jackson shushes him quietly, pressing firmer into the thick vein on the underside.

“Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” Jackson looks up through his dark eyelashes, cheeks flushed prettily, and Mark swears then that he’s never been more in love with anyone in his entire life. Mark nods, and tilts his hips up, jerking his chin in the slightest.

Jackson strokes his cock gently, much more gently than he really needs to, but Mark responds anyways, body moving up against him to meet every hard thrust.

Jackson's hips let up just a little and Mark curses softly, "No don't stop, Jackson please." He rocks downwards against Jackson and suddenly he’s seeing white.

Mark can’t think anymore, crying out every time Jackson brushes his prostate, over and over, relentless hips snapping forward against Mark’s thighs. Mark’s fingers tighten their grip on the bedspread as Jackson pulls him back to meet every thrust. Mark is bordering oversensitivity, face flushed and red, muscles drawn tight as Jackson grinds into him, deep and filthy. It’s good in the way only Jackson can make it good.

His cock is hard again between his legs, smearing sticky threads of precome onto his belly, and Mark feels like he’s going to pass out, Jackson’s hands and low noises the only things keeping him grounded.

“You with me?” he asks, and Mark finds it in him to nod and cling onto him even harder, nipping at his neck and sucking bruises to the underside of his jaw. “Can I jerk you off?” Again, Mark nods, his eyes shut tightly and fingers curled into Jackson’s back, feeling the muscles shift under the skin.

At first, Mark wonders how the _fuck_ he’s supposed to come again, but then Jackson’s hand is wrapped around him and he realizes faintly, _oh._ Jackson brings him to the edge so easily, has him gasping and arching up in minutes, and Mark barely has a chance to squeak out a warning before everything goes white for one earth-shattering moment and he’s coming, body convulsing and tightening.

Jackson keeps a fist around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth until Mark whines in protest and pushes him off, still trembling a bit. Mark swings his forearm over his eyes, wondering how Jackson is lasting so damn long. He really shouldn’t be surprised, if he’s being honest. It _is_ Jackson after all, with his inextinguishable enthusiasm and never ending stamina.

When his breathing evens out, Mark sits up carefully, groaning when Jackson’s swollen cock slips out of him at the movement. “ _How_?” He asks, at a loss for words. Jackson half-smiles sheepishly and shrugs. Mark shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re fucking insane. Take that condom off.”

Jackson dutifully removes it and ties it off, (flushing slightly when Mark asks, “Why are you tying it? It’s not like there’s anything in it?”) and throws it in the direction of the first. Mark sighs and glances at him through his eyelashes. “Honestly, how?” he wonders aloud, but this time it’s more rhetorical.

He pushes at Jackson’s shoulders, and Jackson goes down without protest, flat on his back. His eyes widen when he sees what Mark is about to do, squeezing his lips together in a thin line. Mark leans down and bites his hip playfully, murmuring a quiet, “Insatiable,” into his skin.

Mark assesses him with calculating eyes. He’s already flushed, chest heaving and cock red, and Mark knows it’ll barely take anything to push him over. “Next time I’m going to fuck you,” he says conversationally, index finger tracing one of the veins in Jackson’s erection. “And we’re going to go one round. And you’re going to come. Just from that.”

Jackson makes a noise somewhere between a whimper and a choked out “Please,” his eyes shutting tight. Mark grins, realizing how the tables have been flipped.

“Always talking so cockily,” Mark continues, not bothering to try and stop the stupid grin spreading across his face. “You’re really cute, you know.” Jackson’s entire body shudders when Mark’s fingers rub into the slit at the top of his cock, smearing the precome gathered there. Mark watches the way his abs scrunch together then even out again.

When Jackson groans and turns his face away, Mark reluctantly decides he should probably stop teasing. His body is already starting to ache faintly and he knows that he should go ahead while he’s still surging with adrenalin.

With one smooth motion, Mark’s lips wrap around the tip of Jackson’s cock, cheeks suctioned tight around him. Jackson yelps, and Mark would be full of mirth if he wasn’t so focused on not choking. He swallows down the bitter saliva flooding his mouth and takes down another inch, letting his eyes close as he works his tongue over the throbbing length.

Jackson gasps something incoherent but it’s enough for Mark to know what he means. He pulls back quickly right as Jackson comes, stroking him steadily through it. Jackson keens, arching into his touch, and Mark thinks he’s _definitely_ going to be the one doing the fucking next time.

Jackson catches his wrist and pulls him away, scrunching his nose in distaste at the come rolling down in slow drops between Mark’s fingers. He’s never liked the taste, no matter how much he’s endured it for Mark before.

“Sated?” Mark asks, stretching his long limbs gingerly. There are bruises dotting his skin, and the bite mark is fresh and reddened on Jackson’s hip, along with other marks along his jaw and collar bones, and if Mark had to guess, he’d say Jackson is just as exhausted as he is, even if he doesn’t show it as outwardly.

“Mm, very,” Jackson sighs, sitting up as well. “But we have to burn these sheets before Jinyoung comes home.”

Mark laughs and wipes his hands clean on the already ruined bedspread. “We can deal with it tomorrow. Come on, your bed’s still clean. Shower, and then we can sleep.”

Jackson lags along behind him as Mark crosses the room to the bathroom, groaning out protests at the thought of showering when he’s so spent, but Mark gives him a _look_ and he shuts up immediately.

Later, when they curl up in Jackson’s tiny bed and Mark is grinning into Jackson’s neck, inhaling the scent of his body wash, Jackson murmurs, “How mad do you think Jinyoung is going to be tomorrow?,” into his hair, and the bubbly fizzing sensation in Mark’s chest overflows.

“Very, I hope.” He whispers back conspiratorially.

Jackson laughs tiredly, and even if the _I love you_ goes unsaid, there’s enough in that laugh to assure Mark.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://eatjinsass.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/whinytaeyong) come hmu


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